Smoke in the Sun (Flame in the Mist #2)(21)
What does she want with me?
“Has Prince Raiden been attuned to your needs?” the empress asked, as though she were inquiring about the weather.
Startled by the question, Mariko flinched, jostling the tiny cup against her lips, the pale liquid inside burning her tongue. She put down the cup with great care, her mind sifting through all the possible answers she could offer. The possible questions to follow. All the endless possibilities, in all directions.
Stop it, at once. Do not permit yourself to be rendered a fool.
Unless that is the most advantageous course.
“Prince Raiden has had much to contend with over these last few days, following the skirmish with the bandits in Jukai forest,” Mariko said softly. “But, yes, he was very kind on our journey here.”
The empress laughed as she had not laughed before. When the sound of her amusement filled the space, the women on all sides laughed in turn, but none with as much vigor as the empress.
“Prince Raiden? Kind?” The empress laughed again. “My, he must have been charmed by the sight of you, even though you were covered in several weeks’ worth of mud.”
Her sarcasm was not a thing to be missed. Buried beneath it—alongside the naked spark of cruelty—Mariko sensed something much darker. It was clear the empress disliked Prince Raiden. But simply attempting to cause him strife by tormenting his future wife seemed … unsophisticated. All too predictable.
Perhaps she’s trying to learn whether or not I am happy to be marrying Prince Raiden. And, in turn, learn whether or not I can be of use to her, whatever her agenda might be.
Mariko thought quickly.
Though she’d eschewed the notion only a moment ago, Mariko decided it was best to appear foolish when it came to this particular matter. Foolish girls were easy to dismiss, and women like the empress enjoyed doing so almost as much as many of the men Mariko knew. She swallowed and held her breath, biting down on her cheek near to the point of drawing blood. She allowed the strain to become evident, hoping they would mistake her discomfort for embarrassment.
It rang true, even to her. For there would have been a time—not so long ago—that Mariko would have felt nothing but sheer terror at the thought of being embarrassed in a roomful of whispering silk.
That time had not passed. It had merely changed. What would have once been shame had morphed into anger and calculation.
Where there was anger, there was no room for shame.
Mariko bowed, her eyes locking on a piece of unraveling straw from the tatami mat near her left knee. “I am grateful to Prince Raiden.” She spoke to the floor. “If he found something about me pleasing—despite my dirty appearance—I am fortunate for it. He rescued me from a fate I would not wish on my worst enemy. If he only ever glances my way in passing, I will be happy.”
“Happy?” The empress paused. Her expression turned sinister. “And are you happy with the fortunes your life has granted you?”
Mariko blinked. “I—”
“You do not know what it means to be happy,” the empress said. “Happiness is not a thing to be found here in the imperial court. We take moments of pleasure. Collect them and keep them tight in our chests. And we hope they are enough to fill whatever holes our truths leave behind.”
Mariko lifted her gaze to meet the empress. The same voice that had been filled with a careful balance of benevolence and scorn had changed further as she spoke. Grown higher-pitched and almost shaky. For a moment, Mariko thought the empress might be on the verge of losing hold on her emotions and showing everyone present her true self.
The moment passed as quickly as it came, and the empress’s features leveled once more. She gestured to one side, and a servant scurried from the shadows to place another silken cushion in the center of the room, between the lines of attentive courtiers. Mariko wondered if she would be asked to sit upon it now. To be dissected by the women around her for all her many failings. It was like a childhood nightmare. One in which Mariko had been stripped bare, her every flaw exposed for all the world to see.
Murmurs began rippling through the room. Several of the young women leaned forward as though they were hungry panthers, awaiting their turn to pounce.
In the back of the room, the sliding doors rasped open, and sounds of commotion unfurled into the air. Caught between two imperial guards, a young woman in a simple white kimono struggled in vain to free herself. Her arms were linked behind her back, and her face was stained by tears.
The murmuring grew louder as the guards dragged the girl forward. With a sob of protest, she was forced to her knees upon the silken cushion. Her unbound hair caught in one of the guard’s gauntlets. After he wrenched it free, the long dark strands wound about the girl’s neck in a snarl.
Pity formed a tight knot in Mariko’s throat. Were the girl properly attired and not in the throes of despair, Mariko wagered she would be quite striking, with such lovely skin and a large set of eyes.
Confusion warmed through Mariko, causing the knot to tighten further.
What are they going to do to her?
“Hirata Suke,” the empress began.
The young woman’s head fell forward in a strangled moan. “Y-yes, my lady.” She sniffed as she placed her forehead on the tatami mats in a pitiful bow.
“You stand accused of cavorting in the gardens with a man beneath your station.”
Another sob.